Mood Swing- Pt 6

Mood Swing

By Sue

E-MAIL: susieqla@yahoo.com
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: Friendship/Romance?
SPOILERS: The Shipment
ARCHIVE: Yes.
DISCLAIMER: 'Enterprise' is the property of Paramount and its associates. No profit is being made.

SUMMARY: Missing scene...

Author’s Notes: This is an on-going string of vignettes, tailored to this pair's developing relationship.

Part 6

'While Minding the Store...'

Dr. Phlox, who had hurried into the transporter venue a few moments after T'Pol, excused himself, anxious to return to his Gillarian loomptils who were probably snarling by now since feeding time had come and gone, and no food. Trip waited until they were alone before saying what was really on his mind. There was no need for the doctor to hear his self-effacing admission.

Gradually, he lifted his head. The chief engineer had the uncomfortable feeling that the Denobulan's estimation of him had gone down considerably without any disparagement from the Vulcan. "Y'know, I never give your self-control any credit." Just by looking at T'Pol he saw he had her undivided attention; her luminous eyes raptly held his gaze. What he wouldn't give to know what was running through that complex mind of hers, a mind that was helping him to cope with his own frame of mind better. "What a lame stunt, huh? I should've followed your recommendations right from the start. No thanks to me, I could've blown us all to smithereens." In a collusive voice he said, "Thanks for not rubbin' my nose in it in front of Phlox. I appreciate it."

She didn't keep him in suspense about the disposition of her thoughts. She rarely did unless it was absolutely necessary. "Basically, your premises were sound, however, your safety precautions lacked fine-tuning."

"And we know why." Trip cast a tight-lipped grimace her way. "I should've gained a better understandin' of the weapon first, so said precautions would've compensated." Why did this sound so familiar? Visibly disgruntled, he lowered his head, his vision strafing the floor. He thumped the side of his throbbing head with his middle and index fingers. "Knock, knock...anybody home in there?" His lips curled in disgust over his failing. "Makes me wonder sometimes." He started a bit when, quite unexpectedly, her hand settled on his shoulder. When he looked up and saw commiseration in her eyes he was even more startled.

"The Xindi are a diversified species and wholly foreign to us. Learning all there is to know about them and their weaponry in the short time that limited contact's been made cannot be expected. Especially when there was only one of their esoteric weapons to examine."

"And I'm to blame for losin' it," Trip sourly complained.

The softness of her voice might have easily melted the heart of even the orneriest person. "You gave it your best calculated 'shot,' as I presume you would say. You were complying with the captain's orders with next to nothing to go on."

He couldn't get over her. When she sounded like this, Trip was a pushover, a southern fried one. If he hadn't known better, he might have suspected that she would pat him on the back next, but that would be expecting more than she was ready to give, or was it? A little over two weeks ago she had nearly kissed him, or had he imagined it? Miracles kept life interesting, Trip handily acknowledged. He should have let her, but had chickened out at the last minute, judging things were moving a little too quickly at the time. They weren't ready to take what was developing between them to the next level...or were they?

Momentarily, he was lost in the sensation of what her full lips might feel like, sampling his. Lost in the extraneous moment, his tongue edged along his dry lips until he noticed she was staring at him. "Y-you're not just sayin' that to make me feel better, by any chance?" She was off to a great start if she was trying to ease his keen sense of failure. He never figured a day would come when she'd willingly place herself on his side, giving him a pep talk, no less. The way they related had certainly undergone serious changes.

"Your quick thinking saved the day." And of course, it wasn't the first time. The commander breathed new life into the trite expression, 'able to think on one's feet.' The small squeeze she gave his shoulder came as a shock although she was no longer a stranger to his sore, stiff muscles. "I hesitated, debating with myself over how to proceed. I...I blanked."

"I think you mean choked." Trip confided, "I was in panic mode, runnin' on pure adrenaline." Widened eyes drank her humility, and something else he wasn't sure about, in. The non sequitor flowed from his mouth. "Sounds like you've been bonin' up on more casual expressions with Hoshi," Trip said conversationally, doting on how obliging she sounded, hoping he didn't sound like the tongue-tied schoolboy he once was. She certainly wasn't the same super critical science officer he had pegged as 'your typical Vulcan fault-finder, bar none.' It looked as though she had nodded a fraction in acknowledgment. The neuropressure appeared to be multi- purposed: helping him combat his sleeplessness, thereby helping him manage his hectic temperament better, and improving a poor relationship that used to border regularly on combative, nearly every step of the way.

"I suggest we analyze the data already processed and perhaps extrapolate from the constructs to arrive at a useful paradigm." Regarding him with analytical eyes, and endeavoring to keep her enthusiasm under wraps, T'Pol proposed, "I detect your considerable restlessness. You've forgone neuropressure for several days. Accompany me to my quarters."

'Oh, boy,' Trip thought, giddy, but did a respectable job keeping his infatuation in check. Needed sleep wasn't the only thing he craved. Merely the gentle, reassuring touch of her hands, before applying the commensurate pressure, was a balm all its own...her feverish touch that warmed his soul. His appetite for her ministration was steadily growing stronger. He covered her hand, still resting on his shoulder, with his as naturally as if covering his mouth over a yawn. "You're on. Leastwise till the cap'n and the landin' party get back. As sure as you're lookin' at me that way, he'll want a full explanation why the only Xindi weapon we had in our possession isn't anymore."

She looked at him oddly. Clearly, he was disoriented if he had no idea where they were. "On?" she asked, arching an eyebrow while directing her eyes downward at the floor firmly beneath them. "We're on *D* deck, Comman--" Seeing the look of futility radiating from his eyes and his wilting facial expression, she serenely amended, "Charles..."

"That's better." Chuckling lightly while standing to full height, he hazarded, "Guess you need to get with Hoshi for extra credit." As though his idea had literally struck him, he quickly followed up, "Nah, on second thought, scratch Hoshi. Stick with me, and I'll have ya shootin' the breeze like an authentic native, Dixie style."

Her odd look stayed intact, but when he daringly moved to negotiate his arm around her waist, it vanished, with a look of acceptance replacing it. She felt a slight tremor in his hand as he held her. "Shall we proceed?" She got the intense feeling that those days when he needed coaxing so she could work on him were long past.

"Yes we shall," Trip countered with just the mildest hint of suggestiveness, along with some tell-tale insecurity behind it. His hormones were all over the place, lately, and a certain beautiful woman was the prime suspect for the condition. "Engineerin'll always be first, but your place's givin' it a run for its money for bein' my next best place to be."

His grip on her firmed up in the time it took T'Pol to field that generous endorsement. The nearer they got to the doors, en route to leaving the transporting area that was scented with the pervasive odor of actinic residue, the securer he plied his hand. Strangely, yet consistently, she anticipated his need for wanting to be close, having gotten quite adept at it; humans bonded in this manner, tactilely, while Vulcans did so cerebrally.

Were they truly bonding along more carnal lines?, she paused to reflect, almost clinically so, when she felt the pads of his fingers caress the pronounced bone of her hip, as though staking his claim. Involuntarily, she shuddered; his touch always a novelty. Neuropressure was the primer as she knew it had the potential to be. Did she really want this, laid claim to by a human? Humans, the erratic recipients of her species' specialized guidance. Her people would never make allowances for her defective choice.

T'Pol inhaled deeply, slowly released the breath, and centered herself; misgivings gave way to more precise thinking. The change in her went wholly unnoticed by her impressionable companion who was completely caught up in her compelling mystique. As though seeing herself undergo the progression from another's perspective, she allowed herself to do what was once the unthinkable--the unmitigatingly reproachable.

Without bothering to rethink her actions, she leaned heavily against the bemused commander, feeling contentment. Haltingly, her arm found its way to his waist. Once snug in place, it felt as though it belonged there, and always would. Tucker sighed, his heart beat like crazy. T'Pol was acutely aware that she was listening for him to sigh again. When he did, he turned to her and smiled.

She chose not to embrace the past, yet came to terms with what the immediate present incited. Selectively, she glimpsed the hazy future before deciding it was best not to dwell on it. They traveled on to her quarters in silence that spoke volumes of where they mutually wished to go from here.

However, just as they rounded the corner, not far off from Mayweather's quarters, the approach of two MACOs intruded; reflexively, the Vulcan and the commander split apart.

"Evening, ma'am, sir," the tall, olive-skinned MACO, in martinet mode, dutifully bade, sensing he and his comrade on patrol had surprised the senior officers. Since these folks were connected with Starfleet, his salute would not be returned.

Assessing damage control, the wary pair awkwardly acknowledged the greeting, nodding at the detail fairly in unison. Glad that Major Hayes, whom Trip had caught giving T'Pol more than the casual once-over on more than one occasion, was not a member of this two-man squad, Tucker mumbled something about the force's work never being done. Seamlessly, Trip and T'Pol streamed away as though both of them anticipated they'd be questioned. Before that happened, they were gone, leaving the MACOs looking at each other with questioning looks of their own.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

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